Peace in the Puzzle
by MekkaBabble
Summary: During World War II, Denmark learns that even a kind occupation carries its own sorrows. And not every hero needs to carry a gun in order to fight Nazi Germany.
1. The Battle is Going Again

_Here's my first foray into drama in nearly 11 years. A few notes before we get going:_

_This story occurs during WWII and thus assumes a few differences from the comic: Russia was the Soviet Union (but for ease of access, I'll still refer to him as Russia) and Iceland was one of Denmark's colonies._

_I'm pulling from a lot of historical events and I'm not going to explain them. That's what Wikipedia's for. 100% accuracy isn't the goal here. I'm telling a story, not writing a textbook. If I wrote something you take issue with, by all means let me know and we'll figure it out. This also comes with a soundtrack! Yay!_

_That being said, I cannot slap enough warnings on this. Again, it's WWII-which means racism, genocide, Nazi philosophy, torture, and pro-Soviet moments to top it off. It's ideologically sensitive with very intense themes and situations. My previous stuff has been very fluffy and silly. This is not._

_Reader discretion is advised._

* * *

They talked about it since 1933 following a war that left all of Europe in shambles. Rumors floated from the south of more fighting and of Germany's brother planning a world takeover. All of it too absurd to take seriously. The Scandinavians entertained it in hypothetical 'what would you do' scenarios, and unequivocally concluded that should something like that actually happen, they'd declare themselves neutral and just keep out of the trouble. Perhaps go in hiding until the paranoia blew over.

It wasn't until they heard Poland's cries from the east that the deep credence of the situation set in. Nazi Germany carved out a new world order with himself set at the top. This superpower, the Scandinavians heard, lacked all the benevolence demonstrated by England, America, and Russia but still promised a better Europe could emerge from the rubble of the First World War. But before the utopia was established, Nazi Germany sought wounded solace in destroying them all.

In 1940, the rata-tat-tat of machine guns and blaring horns signaling an air attack came to seem normal. As did Sweden's tense and snappish attitude, as did Denmark's constant crying. When Norway tried to relax, he gripped the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. They had implored and pleaded America, England, and Russia for help that couldn't come fast enough.

Denmark already went through the motions of declaring neutrality. He traded off his weapons and tried to keep quiet and out of the way. He was already tired of the fighting before the second round began. Initially, Nazi Germany showed zero interest in his tiny neighbor to the north, but for reasons never made clear he focused a concentrated beam of attention northward. Like an ant under the magnifying glass, Denmark writhed under the burn.

As in any other moment of panic, Denmark scrambled for assistance from his fellow Scandinavians. Sweden coldly reminded him that he himself declared neutrality that he wouldn't break this early on, that he also and to worry about Russia mobilizing on Finland. When Denmark pressed the issue, Sweden told him that all his resources and energies were tied up and Denmark would do well to defend his own territory- alone. Norway tended to him briefly, but even his ministrations were lukewarm at best.

Norway paced nervously while Denmark curled like an overcooked prawn and let the words flow- how the concept of killing off groups of people wholesale was both bewildering and absurd. Where was Germany who used to be their friend? The whispers of bombs that could raze whole cities in mere seconds frightened him most of all. And why? Why again? Why now? Why did Nazi Germany pull him from the line of countries as a target for early takeover?

"Stop." Norway said. He sounded tepid and worn out. As if someone flipped a switch, Denmark shut up, just as desperate for reassurance as answers. Norway sat next to him and gave his shoulder a light squeeze, but never looked back. "You're on the way to me. That's why. Use what time you have left to get your head on straight and be ready to defend yourself."

"What's your plan?" Denmark asked. "Are you still staying neutral?"

"I told England I'd side with him and he needs time to get here," Norway drew a sharp breath and picked his next words indiscriminately. "And you could buy us some by stalling Nazi Germany."

"I…" Denmark froze and blinked out another wave of tears. He had already traded his decent bits of artillery to Nazi Germany in the vain hope he'd see a Danish conquest as a loud-sounding nothing, as a waste of a superpower's time. A kitchen knife would serve as a better weapon than anything remaining in his arsenal and that too served as poor defense against a tank. Deep down, Denmark faced the realization that he capitulated years ago. That the only possible way to save his own life was to welcome in his fearsome new master.

"I see. I need to go fortify, then." Norway's hand dropped off his shoulder and automatically Denmark reached out and cleaved to his sweater. Denmark sensed the sheer amount of distress radiating off Norway. Norway, who was supposed to be his best friend. Norway, who saw him as the Judas Iscariot of the continent. "Let. Go." He said it slowly and emphatically. His patience too, had worn to a nub.

Then came the distinct and sticky sound of heavy boots sloshing through the mud nearby.

Denmark did as he was bidden and sat dumbly. There was no time to be hurt by Norway's callousness; no time to even say goodbye let alone make amends. Denmark buried his face in his hands to make it all go away and stayed like that until he could disassociate no longer.

Knocks punctuated every syllable. "Little pig little pig let me in. If you don't I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in."

When he located the will to move once again, he attempted one final appeal to Norway but he had left him to face the Big Bad Wolf solo. Only when the ice cracks do you learn who your true friends are.

Denmark didn't open up; so the superpower let himself in. "Shall I assume you surrender or would you like to try something?"

"Why are you here? You said you wouldn't attack me." Denmark sniffled some more.

Nazi Germany strode over and lifted the other nation's chin with his crop to regard him with limited interest. "But you're so near," he said aghast. "It would be very unneighborly of me if I didn't stop in to get acquainted. Besides, dear boy, you have my motives all mixed up. I've come to protect you."

"From what?" He made a useless effort to reclaim his head.

"From the Allies, of course. If I didn't step up to take care of you, you'd be forced into a life of indentured servitude to that inferior cur, England. Who would I be to allow that for a fellow Aryan?"

"England? He's been my friend for centuries, all the Allies have been!" Denmark retorted.

"They've been feeding you with propaganda, my boy. By the skillful and sustained use of propaganda, one can make a people see even heaven as hell or an extremely wretched life as paradise." Nazi Germany said.

"What if I tell you to leave?"

Nazi Germany tapped his head smartly with the crop. "Then I'll bomb Copenhagen and we can repeat this conversation after."

Upon a few more of Denmark's feeble whimpers of despair, he adopted a new approach. "Why the tears? This is a day of celebration. You will be part of history. Norway too, once I liberate him."

Denmark cried all the harder.

With that, Nazi Germany patted his head condescendingly, the way one would a house pet, causing Denmark to bristle and tense under the touch. He handed Denmark a Swastika armband so that he might advertise his new allegiance and then took his leave, announcing his full intention to visit Norway before England could.

Denmark sat unmoving, just as he had before Nazi Germany's arrival. He wished the planet would halt for him to get off, but the world never stopped for one person's grief. When he found himself again, Denmark rose and planted both hands against a wall, hunched over a trashcan, waiting to vomit.

_More to come..._

_Also, the reviews for this section is deplorable. Don't make me beg for feedback._


	2. Betrayal

Initially, Denmark's life changed in imperceptible ways- heavy cream disappeared at random from the store shelves and army issue pressed wool blankets became his prime source of warmth that winter. There was also the swastika armband Nazi Germany forced him to wear- a simple stripe of fabric that weighed on him like shackles. Occasionally, Denmark clawed at it but never dared to remove it.

His physical quality of life took a vague dip too, the dwindling beer supply turned sour and tasteless the longer the occupation droned on as his economy reoriented from luxury goods to be sold abroad to meeting Nazi Germany's demands. Comparatively, Denmark knew he had it easy. Nazi Germany turned him into a model state set up to be well-treated just to show other countries how good it could be, so he kept his complaints to himself. Nazi Germany stopped by every so often, sometimes just to update him on the tides of war (and things were always going well), sometimes just for a chat. He'd show up every day for a week then not at all for a month, always unannounced. When he wanted Denmark around though, he expected him there.

Then there were the larger things that Denmark's perpetual optimism couldn't mend. Apart from the war itself that it exhausted him to merely think about, was his obvious loneliness. The prolonged isolation from his friends sparked agitation that occasionally evolved into full-fledged panic.

Norway's fate weighed heavily on his mind.

Compared to what came next, that year was a happy one. Like in wars past, his life chugged from one mundane moment into the next interrupted by flashes of unabated terror. The sounds of battle meant he stayed inside even when leaving became an option and the moments of stillness came to frighten him just as much as the explosions.

In spite of it all, he dredged up every diplomacy lesson ever learned. The order he received most frequently also the one that filled him with self-loathing- speaking to his former friends in order to expound on the glories of the new Europe and encourage their surrender so that they may live like him. All Denmark's missteps in these communications were countered with very real threats.

Nazi Germany grew fond of reminding Denmark of his place of privilege- that war remained off his soil, he had a steady stream of food, unlike the Netherlands who starved, and most importantly that his fellow Danes- Jylland, Fyn, and Bornholm were granted the gift and privilege of life. Subjecting him to the unpredictability of his rage seemed to be the point some days.

Denmark did, however, extend some formal protest one day when Nazi Germany found him sitting in bed with a radio for noise and company.

"When I first came, my armies marched through Oslo playing musical instruments. Norway offered no trouble whatsoever and I was so hopeful." Nazi Germany explained as he took a seat on the bed next to Denmark. "Now when I go there, I find my naval ships have disappeared and I'm attacked in the woods. He's constantly damaging me-us- when I attack England."

Denmark hid his momentary joy just a second too late. Norway wasn't much of a fighter, either. He deciphered through a combination of Nazi Germany's rants and common sense that Norway took to engaging in acts of sabotage whenever and wherever he could and now it was confirmed. In that moment he betrayed his weak spot and unintentionally Norway's too. Nazi Germany noticed almost immediately.

"Is something funny boy?"

Denmark swallowed and flipped off the radio.

Nazi Germany seemed mollified enough to continue. "Hm, that's what I thought. I haven't sent food in months and it would be a shame if I had to starve a fellow Aryan to death because he can't see what's good for him."

Not that Norway could ever be starved out with three lifetimes worth of experience hunting, fishing, and cultivating wild plants. He took it as a point of pride.

"And you want me to try and talk him out of it." Denmark said knowingly.

"Well, thank God you get that much," said Nazi Germany.

True, he remained desperate to escape the pervasive feelings of loneliness that would never leave him alone. Seeing Norway under any circumstances would be a joy. Denmark didn't relent to his own selfish want at first and shook his head. There was that tiny ember of rebellion that whispered reminders of his continued service as a puppet state to the greatest horror Europe had seen.

"Forgive me, mien fuehrer, I… don't think I can." Denmark said cautiously and truthfully. Norway wasn't quite so myopic. Thus far, these diplomacy missions had been unsuccessful and won temporary enemies in France and Netherlands and he still dreaded the day he'd have to speak to Poland.

Nazi Germany considered this for a moment, then smacked his crop sharply against a desk. The crack sent Denmark jumping backwards against a wall. "You can and you will! And God help you if you don't!"

And that is how Denmark came to betray his best friend. Serendipity alone prevented him from heeding orders. Halfway to Norway's territory after a lot of exhausting back and forth, he decided he'd had enough of the soul-crushing solitude, being bullied and threatened, and that all he wanted was his friend's counsel.

He wandered through the deserted and dead streets of Oslo, not expecting to see Norway- a presence in his life normally as constant as the Northern Star. He then approached Norway's ransacked house, fighting an ever-growing suspicion he was being watched all the while making distress cries like a lost fawn, struck with the heart-wrenching familiarity of it all. And the knowledge that Norway sat somewhere so near without answering his calls troubled him deeply.

He entertained a very foreign thought- after their last encounter when Denmark condemned him to invasion through his own inaction, Norway had had enough. Denmark may not have known all there was to know, but when it came to Norway he fancied himself close and abandonment proved the most plausible scenario. With a quiet but despairing sob, he fell against the side of the house and wept.

"Denmark!" It was Sweden.

He snapped upright at his name and found his friend slinking around the other side of Norway's house and along the wall until they stood within whispering distance. He wiped his tears and tackled Sweden with a full frontal hug, one joyfully returned.

Sweden moved a hand to his wrist. "Shut your eyes and come with me. Above all, do _not_ panic."

Denmark clamped a hand over his eye and listened to the sensation of feet crunching the power snow in their wake, soon to be blown into nothingness by the mountain breeze. He did however; dig his heels into the ground at the rustling of branches directly in front of him. Sweden heaved a heavy sigh and yanked him forward. As he got thrown off balance, Denmark crashed through a low lying branch and bit back an urge to scream.

He breathed only when he remembered for the rest of the walk and somehow made nary a peep as Sweden led him out of the forest and into the ostensible safety of an empty hangar.

"I missed you so much!" Denmark squeaked out.

"Same here." The sun flashed off Sweden's glasses.

"But how… how are you doing this?" Denmark gestured vaguely around.

"Doing what? Living?" said Sweden. "Let me say this much. I shouldn't even be talking with you because I'm neutral. I meant that when I said it before, though unlike anyone else I've maintained it. Finland especially, for that matter. Jeeze."

A bomb exploded somewhere within him and he felt about ready to cry all over again. Sweden ignored the general shift in mood and continued.

"I can't help non-neutral countries and you," he poked a finger in Denmark's chest, "are a Nazi collaborator."

Denmark glowered and opened his mouth to protest, but the words dissolved on his tongue. Sweden only shrugged.

"Admitting is the first step to recovery. So quit walking in place and quit letting him push you around."

"What can I do?" Denmark said.

"Can't tell you. Neutral, remember?" He and Sweden swapped a look that lasted mere seconds, but contained centuries of understanding. Though it would be imperceptible to anyone else; Denmark caught a glint in his friend's eye that told him everything he needed to hear, and he smiled as Sweden pulled out a map.

"If I wasn't neutral, I wouldn't place mines here… here… and here." He traced an outline over clusters of coordinates in the Baltic Sea and Gulf of Finland. Denmark watched with rapt attention, playing a game of memory that could cost his life should he lose. "Can you get through it?"

"Can I keep the map?" Denmark asked.

"No. But you can look at it as long as you need." Said Sweden.

So Denmark stared until he committed to memory every coordinate, every trap, every roadblock, and every safe passage. With the war raging ever harder in the west, stealing off looked increasingly likely. When Denmark mustered the confidence that he could navigate a small fishing boat through the deadly maze he passed back the map.

"Have you heard from Norway?" He asked just as much from genuine concern as to avoid the pending goodbye wedged between them.

"Sure have," the other nation chuckled, "he asks about you… a lot. Glad I'll finally have something to tell him."

A spasm of jealousy wracked his body. "Nazi Germany sent me here to find Norway." He said sadly. By saying yes, Denmark felt he'd permanently forfeited his right to refusal.

"You show up wearing a swastika armband and we all know you've been letting Nazi Germany steer you with everything except a bridle and set of reins. Of course you won't find him." Sweden said.

Denmark swallowed hard. "I can't go back. If I go back without any information he'll…" The threat, never fully manifested, left Denmark with an innate fear of the unknown, never even granted the option to weigh his choices.

Again Sweden chuckled. "Wow, even in the middle of a war, my job is still keeping both of you out of trouble. Let me see… Norway has a hydroelectric power plant that manufactures heavy water."

"Heavy water?" Denmark repeated blankly.

"Don't worry about the chemistry. Long story short, Nazi Germany needs it to make one those new nuclear bombs. Norway and England are collaborating to stop him. Norway's been living in the mountains off moss and lichen waiting for his chance to blow up that plant. You go back and tell Nazi Germany that, I promise he won't be angry with you." Sweden said.

"What about Norway?" Denmark said.

"Norway is a gang of one. It's too late to stop him. Now go home, I'll see you again soon."

Denmark gave Sweden one final hug and turned to leave only to be called back.

"And Denmark?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you show up, take off that goddamn swastika. I hate seeing it on you."

Denmark fingered the offending article, but left it in place. Though he was loath for its symbolism, it afforded him a measure of protection he wasn't ready to shake.

Predictably, Nazi Germany had waited the entirety of the visit out and pounced Denmark the second he reappeared. The other nation ignored the barrage of questions as to why he returned alone and what had taken so long and the details therein. Instead, he launched straightaway into a curt explanation about Norway's untimely attack that would spare Nazi Germany the burden of owning the world's first nuclear weapon.

And the superpower asked no further questions and stormed off, all the while shouting indictments of Denmark's uselessness.

From then on, Denmark denied Nazi Germany the formidable and weighty title of 'fuehrer' and instead refused to address him as anything.

* * *

_This story is written in its entirety and I frankly just need it out of my hands. Updates should come quickly._

_More to come..._


	3. Axis and Allies

Denmark had long since mastered the art of rendering himself invisible and with Nazi Germany tied up by France and England, his confidence soared on the breeze. He procured a refurbished fishing boat no one would miss and navigated Sweden's deadly labyrinth on water that sparkled underneath a magnificent blue sky. He loved when the weather matched his mood.

He was equal parts thrilled and unsurprised to find Sweden already at the harbor, waiting. Denmark barely contained an urge to drop anchor then and there and swim the remaining distance to his friend. Still fresh in his mind were the frantic days before the invasion when Nazi Germany fractured his connection with both him and Norway. Denmark felt almost as if he were orphaned those days. Their actual relationships had no bearing on the fact he lacked his surrogate family and the pure, unabated need to have them back overshadowed any lingering animosity.

In fact, when he greeted Sweden at the dock, he only held stark admiration. He and Nazi Germany the only ones who kept their promises- Sweden's of neutrality and Nazi Germany's of destruction. Sweden's eyes held no joy though, his body tense from days and nights of hyper vigilance. There simply existed no path of least resistance.

"Again, no swastikas on my soil. Take off the armband." He said wearily.

Denmark removed it and tossed it in the boat.

"Better."

Then the gloom lifted for a spell.

"How did you know to look for me at Norway's?" Denmark asked in the spirit of making light conversation.

Sweden laughed disbelievingly. "How I _didn't _Iknow? Besides you being predictable as hell when you're sober and the sheer amount of _noise _you made… I heard Nazi Germany's plan to fish Norway out with you as bait. Pun intended."

Now it was Denmark's turn to laugh. The sheer absurdity of Sweden's words demanded it.

"Let me show you my trick," said Sweden.

The pair walked the short distance to Sweden's house and into the recesses of an attic Denmark never recalled being there before. Perhaps it was new. Sweden set up what appeared to be a Marconi room. The blips and beeps of Morse code rang constantly so Denmark snatched a pen and got writing.

…_Finland's losing heart for the Leningrad siege. Implied his only goal was to regain territory lost to Russia years ago. Invited me in only to carry out his dirty fight. Now he mocks me to my face by training a dog to salute me, yet he won't himself. He'll stab me in the back the second I quit watching him. No matter, Moscow will be ours by springtime…_

Denmark stared incredulously and waved the note at Sweden.

"Wow! Go Finland!" The other said. "Nazi Germany's keeping off my soil in exchange for iron ore and use of my communication lines."

"And he let you tap them?"

"Well…I didn't ask. It's always better to apologize than ask permission."

So that's the tense negotiation of neutrality, even in a period of calm and safety, Sweden checked out windows, checked the time as if the Sword of Damocles could crash down any time. No wonder Denmark didn't manage, he lacked the finesse.

"So that's how I knew about you and how I've been talking with Norway."

Denmark wrote some more as the next string of letters poured through.

_We've seized Indonesia's oil supply and Netherlands can't do a damn thing about it, he and all these other resisting countries sit at a threshold of death whether they feel it now or not. My model state does nothing to glean their cooperation. Either he's lazy or they're stubborn or some combination of both. Those fools know not what they do to themselves. I will…_

Then Denmark quit. He had not experienced any of Nazi Germany's infamous cruelty and, sometimes, liked to pretend it never happened at all. He appealed to Sweden, who merely shrugged him off.

"What did you expect? It's war." He said, not unkindly. "Norway tells me what the Allies are doing. America's got some contrived version of a plan to liberate us, but they're triaging the rescue. Right now all they're worried about is Russia, but it changes daily. Only one they're not concerned about is you."

"You all think I'm on his side." Denmark slumped in the chair.

Sweden ignored him for a spell, poured over some handwritten notes and maps, and then tapped out a message of his own. Denmark wrote all the same for his own benefit.

_You can quit worrying yourself sick. Keep up your health. He's not starving or hurt, just cranky. Not sucked into Nazi Germany's creepy ideology either but would never expect that from him. Wants to know if you think he's a collaborator._

Denmark clicked the pen noisily the second Sweden paused. "Was that to-"

More beeps. Denmark scribbled furiously.

_Of course not. He's too smart for that. Tell him I miss him. _

"Who else?" Sweden smiled with his eyes and tapped back.

_Too smart? This is Denmark we're talking about. Don't go overboard._

Denmark giggled in spite of himself. He missed hanging out with Sweden. Norway's response was instantaneous.

_I'm laughing out loud. Too bad we don't have an abbreviation for that._

"It's almost never this fun." Sweden shut off the machine just in time for his stomach to growl insistently. "I have some food if you're hungry." Then they moved to the kitchen.

"I'm not done with this yet." Denmark paused momentarily to absorb it was he who stuck to business and protocol. Truly the world had changed. "Does the whole world think I've sided with Nazi Germany?"

Sweden shifted uncomfortably and passed Denmark a ration of thin soup. "It's honestly hard not to. I see through it and so does Norway, but I can't speak for everyone. You're treated the best of all of us. You already know that. He thinks you're likeable and Iceland's hiding behind America confirming it all."

The rest of the meal found them silent. Denmark sat deeply troubled. Him? A Nazi collaborator? Then and there, he resolved to prove otherwise… somehow. He thanked Sweden profusely for feeding him and promised he'd visit again. Soon.

Denmark had a full mind on hopskip home. As much as he spoke of a resistance that helped them help themselves, Denmark entertained a niggling suspicion that Sweden too banked on a rescue from the Allies in the long term.

In the meantime, the killing would intensify along the road to peace.

_A/n: Indonesia was one of the Netherland's colonies and strategic on the Pacific front for its oil supply. _


	4. Save the Sacred Peace

_This chapter deserves its own warning for blatant references to genocide, torture, and hitting waaaaay too close to reality. For plot purposes, you can reread 'Pretty Swastika' and hang out until the next installment if you're worried. _

_For the rest of you:_

_Song for this chapter: 'Buchenwald Alarm Bell' composed by Vladimir Mouradeli. English or Russian. Your choice. _

_Chapter 4: Save the Sacred Peace _

"I know you were out. I know you were with Sweden. I know everything and see everything." Nazi Germany growled. Denmark balanced in the boat as the waves jostled it to and fro, distinctly disappointed the superpower had the advantage of higher ground to stare down at him.

Denmark cut him off with a vociferous moan. Then he spoke impulsively, far more concerned with salvaging his pride than consequences. "What are you going to do about it?" He climbed from the boat and pushed past the superpower, who stopped him short with the crop to his chest.

"I'm not comfortable with your attitude change." Nazi Germany's voice held a chilling calm. "Perhaps you've been poisoned by rhetoric. I can't fault your malleable mind, but it makes my job harder."

Denmark rolled his eyes and received a smack from the crop in return. Nazi Germany held his temper in check, but that wasn't unusual. If flared and died not unlike a supernova. Denmark only needed to ride out the wave.

"Perhaps it's time I exposed you to the grand plan. As my model state, it's imperative you understand. Come, boy! I'd like you to meet Poland." Nazi Germany said.

* * *

Denmark shook from a nameless sorrow at the barbed wire walls that stretched into infinity and the thick chimney that spewed a pillar of smoke up to the heavens. Nazi Germany kept close at his side. The blood seeped from the soil everywhere he walked and sucked at his shoes. So much of it that it seemed Mother Earth herself had been scourged.

"What have you done?" Denmark said quietly and desperately. "What have you done to everyone?"

"Not everyone. Not you." Nazi Germany nudged him onward. "I'm doing what everyone else was too afraid to do and this is take control of something very powerful."

Denmark gripped on the wire to keep stable, not making a special point to avoid injury yet not seeking it either. He peeked over his shoulder more from habit than expectation- no Norway or Sweden standing by for him to interpret their reactions so he could know how to feel.

Nazi Germany took his hands with an unexpected tenderness. He wanted to run, but to where? All roads led right back to the enemy. It was that abject helplessness that he hated the most. Nazi Germany walked him over blocks of concrete and gravel pathways since transformed into rivers of mud.

When bullets whizzed by them, Denmark jerked free to make a running dive behind a steely gray barrack where Poland sat in watchful anticipation, gripping a shank.

"I've been following you. He'll be looking for us. He's looking for both of us now." Poland muttered as if speaking Nazi Germany's name would cause him to materialize.

"So we stay here." Denmark tried to soothe. "I don't think he saw where I went. We'll be okay." He put his hands behind him into a puddle of this hellish combination of blood, oil, and something else that smelled tangy and foul. Then he drew in a long breath to scream, but Poland clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Why did you come here? You're a fool to come here! I was the warning bell back in 1940! Why did you not run then when you had the chance?" Poland snapped.

"I… I didn't know." Denmark said sadly.

"You didn't know?" Poland hissed. "You didn't _know_! How did you not know? You're the only one Nazi Germany treats like a human being and you didn't know! We all knew about you."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what your home-" Denmark said. He lacked even as much energy as it took to cry.

"I'm sorry for all of us."

"There you are. You're both quite the chatterboxes aren't you?" Nazi Germany towered over both of them and Poland rose to meet him with a handful of grime.

"Get out! You raze my home, imprison me, and call me a parasite! What more are you here to do?" He screamed.

"Listen to him, Denmark! What an imagination this creature has! He's trying to make you pity him, but we know better. Don't we?" Nazi Germany let out a low-level cackle.

Poland fired the swill at Nazi Germany's face from point blank range. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on! I am slavering at the mouth for the day the Allies come in and bury you alive."

"At the risk of appearing to talk _nonsense_ I tell you that the National Socialist movement will go on for 1,000 years! Don't forget how you all laughed at me 15 years ago! And the Allies? God himself can't stop me." Nazi Germany deadpanned, while cleaning his face with a handkerchief.

A pregnant second passed in which Poland fixed Nazi Germany with a hate-laden glare and Denmark cringed like a beaten dog. Wordlessly, Nazi Germany's hand shot out and wrenched Poland's neck in a vice. With a nod at Denmark, he dragged Poland into the barrack.

Though Denmark covered his ears and squatted in a fetal position, through the walls he heard with ease the muted thuds of metal crunching bone. Denmark cursed his own indifference and priority to save his own skin. That should have been him in the barrack. He did nothing special or noteworthy to stay safe and comfortable- timid and lacking resources. Even worse, he knew this demonstration was conducted for his benefit, because he mouthed off after visiting Sweden.

Best he could do was rationalize away his apathy as a matter of survival. Even that though, couldn't keep him entirely still and he resorted to tense knocks at the door. His efforts were summarily ignored and overshadowed by an emphatic crack that only served to underscore what Nazi Germany was capable of.

Long after his feeble effort to end the brutality, Nazi Germany strode out with Poland behind him, cradling a swollen and deformed wrist.

"Are you okay?" He ventured.

"I'm fine." Poland answered, his voice inert. "The pain is good for me. Thank you both for stopping by. Would you like me to show you out?"

"That won't be necessary." Nazi Germany pushed Poland aside and led Denmark out of the heartbeat of the war zone into a well-furnished barrack that managed to be confining and too spacious all at the same time. The abrupt change in scenery too jarring to be real. Denmark quivered in place and scratched at his armband while Nazi Germany wandered to an improvised kitchen. It had to be a nightmare. He waited patiently to see if it would all end. If Norway would shake him awake and hold him and tell him that it would all be okay.

Denmark inhaled and took in the scent of apples, fresh ground cinnamon, brown sugar- all untold luxuries that he was one of the few allowed access to, especially in this time of scarcity. Outside, it began to rain.

Nazi Germany tapped him and passed him half an apple strudel he procured from… somewhere- one of Austria's recipes no doubt and a rare treat under any circumstance.

"Have some." Nazi Germany said.

The falling water did nothing to soothe him as it knocked the window.

"I can't. My stomach hurts."

"It may be hard to see and you may think my actions immoral, but I'm paving the way for a utopia." If Nazi Germany continued to talk, Denmark didn't hear it. Whatever grandiose plans he held were rapidly coming to fruition and no one would emerge unscarred.


	5. A Call to Arms

_Song for this chapter: 'Praise the lord and pass the ammunition' by Frank Loesser_

_Chapter 5: A Call to Arms_

Their relationship settled back into some semblance of normalcy after Denmark met Poland. Nazi Germany became distant, yet polite. But Denmark also refused to leave his house. Some days, the weight of this altered reality shattered him and he never bothered getting out of bed. Had cigarettes been available, he would've taken up smoking.

Mostly though Denmark came to look forward to the company Nazi Germany provided, as he visited Sweden no more after that first occasion.

Of his own accord, he asked Nazi Germany for work and was provided with inventory lists, which Denmark found boring. If he felt brave, Denmark would switch supply numbers around or see to it that a page or seven went missing or got diverted to an Ally base.

He could follow the tide of war based on Nazi Germany's mood. When things were going well, Nazi Germany showed up smiling and gave him treats like a bag of coffee. When things weren't, he brought Denmark to piles of former buildings post-raid and Denmark cheerfully cleared the ruins. His spirit rang those times, for there was still a beacon of hope.

With Sweden gone as a contact, he became privy to no more privileged information and relied ever heavier on the radio to keep up. Oftentimes, it bore encouraging news- England spoke of plans to attack Nazi Germany at the heart of his fortress… once they found it, that is. Also of plans to liberate Stalingrad. Usually both sides claimed to be winning. Nazi Germany somehow kept one step ahead of them all each and every time. But he listened regardless.

_Praise the lord, we're on a mighty mission!_ It serenaded.

One of America's songs no doubt. Denmark went to fiddle with the dial, but stopped short out of morbid curiosity.

_All aboard! We're not a-goin' fishin'_

_Praise the lord and pass the ammunition and we'll all stay free!_

Each side had its own propaganda, apparently. When the song ended and America gave a speech, that's when Denmark quit listening and started hearing.

_Nazi Germany sees himself as a knight who got Germany on his feet and is now taking him for ride. The only Superman I know isn't a blond haired blue eyed Aryan with German blood traceable back 15 generations or whatever- he's a reporter for the Daily Planet who lives in Metropolis and… he's got black hair. I'm not going to speculate on his religion, but I'll say he hates Nazis and follows the Talmud. _

_So just remember, for all you countries out there he's forcing to go marching and 'hieling' and 'hieling' and marching… me, my old man, and Russia have our Grade A pilots Canada and Iceland on the job to get the rest of ya'll liberated. _

_We can't stand guys like Nazi Germany who abuse their power in the name of anything._

How he wanted to meet the Allies! Even through the radio, they talked to him like a person. America sounded so confident and had the bravery to openly insult Nazi Germany with no fear of the repercussions. Maybe he could learn something.

_I just need to say- living is half your battle. If you can hear me now, the hardest part is over. Ahead of you, ya'll still have a path of great suffering but don't lose hope because united we'll win._

_And I mean that when I say there will be a day of liberation because, like Superman, I want to help you because it's the right thing to do. If you're going through hell, keep on going because we're coming!_

Good advice from the most precocious of the Allies. Denmark wished he could be so strong, just like America or even Superman.

Later that very same week, Russia ousted Nazi Germany from his borders and optimism spread like wildfire. Surely now, they would all taste liberty. Belgium mailed chocolate to everyone that year for Christmas. Pre-WWI of course, but no one objected to free candy.

Open rebellion became commonplace even as the war stormed outside their windows. With the defeat, Nazi Germany's temper vacillated from foul to unbearable. Denmark soured as he became the target of the mood swings. The crop fell on him a number of times often for fabricated offenses, which he found more humiliating than painful and it served only to make him angry. The knowledge that the end of the war loomed so near while he remained in indefinite servitude depressed him and the rage let him feel alive.

Nazi Germany immediately noticed and the more Denmark bristled at him and disobeyed, the tighter he clamped down in what came to be a vicious and endless cycle. He never felt himself, those times. He no longer reminisced about his past because it made him bitter and thought of Norway and Sweden a few minutes less each day.

Then something unprecedented happened- a Nazi soldier found murdered on Danish soil. When the superpower first leveraged the accusation, Denmark asked him to repeat it twice for fear of mishearing. Then came the inevitable barrage of questions involving the who, what, where, when, why of the situation. In a way, Denmark found relief that in a world where death appeared everywhere it still had meaning when one person passed.

He hadn't heard of it let alone committed the act. Perhaps there was some mistake? He said as much, but Nazi Germany was adamant he alone remained guilty. Denmark fought further for his acquittal by reminding him he had no guns with which to shoot. It degenerated into a powerful shouting match where Denmark insisted on his innocence and Nazi Germany insisted just the opposite. And that was the beginning of the end.

"Do you really think I'm capable of killing!" Denmark shouted more as an allegation than a question. "If I was, don't you think I would've killed you the second you knocked on my door?"

Then he shut up.

Nazi Germany's lip twitched and he backhanded Denmark across the face. The other country shrieked out of surprise just as much as pain.

"I've been so kind and so gentle with you." He jabbed a finger at Denmark and stopped inches from his face. "But clearly the only thing you can comprehend is force!" Then he regained composure and his tone evened out. "You are to gather the other Danes and meet me here tomorrow morning. An eye for an eye, Denmark." Nazi Germany clipped his heels, performed an about-face and strode out the door.

Denmark blinked after him, cradling his bruised cheek in his palm. The space between his breaths shortened exponentially as he pondered the disaster, swift and overwhelming, which would arrive that next day.

The roundup.

At long last, the Big Bad Wolf came for the sheep. Because of one dead man, the whole of the country would be reduced to ashes. With sunset already at hand, Denmark snapped into action. Whispy clouds were turned black by the red sky, giving the appearance of smoke against blood.

* * *

_A/n: A couple of things. With Iceland, I definitely pulled a case of convenient history. America and England pegged Iceland for a friendly invasion on account of Denmark rolling over to the Nazis and because Iceland offered a good airbase. _

_Speaking of America, count on him to blow the Superman thing out of proportion. Superman's Methodist, but his creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster are Jewish. Superman also acts as a Moses figure… you can better believe the Nazis were annoyed. So given the situation it made sense to let Denmark admire him. Special thanks to Karalora for pointing this all out to me._


	6. Light and Salvation

_The song for this chapter: 'Denmark 1943' by Fred Small... which I totally ripped a line or two from. _

_Chapter 6: Light and Salvation_

The lone figure stood at the shores of Øresund facing northeast, shivering against a thin wind blowing ever cooler as the night yawned on. Denmark could only hope the breeze would destroy any footprints he left on the shore as he submerged himself, fully clothed beneath the waves. A missing boat could only arouse suspicion.

Centuries of civilizing had effaced his mind of the short swim over to Sweden; the water's icy embrace tore into him like a thousand pins and needles. In spite of it, the young man stole through the vast blackness of the strait, never seen, never heard.

Mostly, he remained under the waves, surfacing only when compelled to draw a fresh breath. More than once, he lingered at the surface under a sky jeweled with stars to keep his bearings and blink the salt from his eyes. He swam as far and as fast as he could, carelessly at first, but he evened out his pace the closer he came to Sweden's maritime minefield.

At which point, Denmark whipped his flattened hair from his eyes and bobbed at the surface in order to gain an innate and intimate knowledge to where each mine sat in case he had no light source on the return trip. Solid, rounded chunks of metal sailed past him under the ghost moon. Denmark drew a breath and held it each time he passed one. The fear of setting one off rendered him numb long before the frostbite set in.

He could not have been gladder to reach land. Briefly and uselessly, he wrung his shirt of excess water and then, like a whipcrack, he sprinted, sucking in more frigid air that chilled him anew from the inside out. He ran harder and faster than he ever thought possible and in that critical moment learned it was possible to keep going even when he couldn't. When there was nothing left in his body to give.

Denmark rubbed his sopping limbs briskly in a vain attempt to restore some life into them and had equal luck quieting his chattering teeth. When he finally reached Sweden's house, he abandoned all subtlety and pounded on the front door until he received an irritated answer.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sweden hissed. "It is the middle of the goddamn night! I'm shocked Finland didn't snipe you from-"

"Shut up." Denmark panted.

Sweden ignored him. "And you're soaking. What did you do, swim here?"

Denmark massaged his hands with renewed vigor and tried to keep his voice from cracking. "I need your help with something. I need it right now and I'm not taking no for an answer."

Then Sweden ushered him inside and provided him a towel, warm blanket, and some hot water while Denmark wept bitter tears as the weight of the situation seeped into him. "Sweden… you don't… I can't… the barbed wire… the crematorium… not with me… I can't…" He curled around the mug and sobbed.

"Denmark!"

Sweden's voice soothed him even though he snapped, brought him back from the brink.

"Denmark, are you listening to me?"

Denmark nodded into the blanket.

"Good. I can't help if I don't know what's going on. Take your time and speak."

Time? What time?

He took a few deep breaths and stopped himself short of hyperventilating. As usual, Sweden was right. There was a long night ahead and it wouldn't do if he exhausted himself in a panic attack before it all began. He took another swallow and tried again. "Nazi Germany's after the other Danes. He's going to kill them in the morning." He stopped to observe a wall clock. The ticking clapped like thunder. "They need somewhere safe to go… and you're neutral."

"I'd say we need more people like you, but know I'd regret that in a second." Sweden's eyes shone with respect. So that's what America must feel.

"So you'll help?" Denmark immediately felt warm and energized even while being damp and tired.

Sweden rushed to a drawer and tossed him a tiny gold key. "In the basement there's a flint and a torch. Find it and pack up some water while I get dressed. I'm not going to leave you to stand alone. Not this time."

So they all carried the heavy cross of regret.

They reconvened at the dock near an innocuous trawler boat. Diesel powered and seaworthy, it would do the job. Sweden stood statuesque at the wheel and Denmark lit the torch and kept watch at the bow. A fireball holding a dancing flame.

"You know where to find them?" Sweden asked. "I believe I should wait with the boat while send them my way."

When they dropped anchor in the warzone, Denmark for a chance found himself grateful for the wailing sirens. In the distance, bombs illuminated the land like sickly fireworks. The wind never let up. The chaos would keep him awake.

He started with Jylland- the farmer closest to Nazi Germany's fortress, most likely to be seized first. The other took immediate notice and charged him. In retrospect, Denmark wouldn't blame him. He barged in after midnight screaming at him to get out of his house and travel northward to the coast. It did sound ridiculous that after years of Nazi Germany's occupation suddenly this very night he earmarked them all for the grave. When he laughed in Denmark's face and turned to leave, Denmark danced in his path determined to annoy the other into taking his word. To his immense relief, Jylland eventually did.

All Denmark became aware of was the acute passing of time and the growing tally of the number of countrymen he told and the dwindling he had yet to tell. By warning Jylland alone, he doubled his voice.

He biked over to Fyn and hoped to use a gentler approach with her. First, he knocked at the door. When that failed, he tried the window. When that failed, he smashed it and she screamed at the intruder. So that's what an invasion tasted like from the other end. When they both calmed down and Denmark reintroduced himself, she too agreed to go. Tripled.

Gunshots blasted from somewhere far too near.

Though not particularly religious, Denmark thought it seemed an excellent time to pray. As a single point of light amidst the sea of darkness, he proved an easy target. From thereon, he traveled the back roads and waded in canals. As the moon climbed high in the sky, the seconds continued ticking ever louder though he wore no watch. He warned passerby and warned them to warn others and then…

And then a flashlight trailed him like a sniper beam. It was all over. With no further reason to slink around like a frightened rabbit, Denmark held the torch aloft and charged towards the light. All he could picture was Nazi Germany on the rooftop waiting for that perfect shot. The person grabbed him and kept him still while he squirmed like a trapped animal. All things told that was the truth of the matter.

"Denmark, it's just me!" Sweden said. The effect was instantaneous and Denmark breathed shallowly. His legs gave out but he didn't sit down. If he sat down, he'd never get back up.

"Why aren't you at the boat!" He demanded.

Sweden pulled out a canteen, took a sip, and offered it to Denmark. "I only have one of your territories so far- Jylland."

"Just one? Just _one!_" Denmark shouted. His mood took an exponential drop and he began to cry. His tears stung more than the seawater. "Just one… Sweden, I'm afraid."

"It's okay. Even heroes get afraid. What's scaring you?"

Him? A hero? That was for guys like America and Superman. He lowered the torch and puzzled it over. Nazi Germany certainly, their steadily decreasing timetable, the night, the noise… what wasn't there to be afraid of? He sniffled.

"How aren't you scared?" He finally asked.

"I am. I'm afraid you're wearing down. I'm also afraid if I don't get Jylland across the sound now, you'll have put in all this effort and not saved at least one."

Denmark shook off his fatigue and sadness as he got his second wind. Like Superman, he'd push through and help because it was the right thing to do.

"Good. Take him back… then come here for more. Yeah!"

"Well done! That's thinking like a hero! I cannot wait to brag to Norway and then tell him to follow your example." Sweden chuckled and clapped him on the back, then turned to go.

Meanwhile, Denmark trudged on as the dangerous news spread and woke up the country. He took back to the main roads and heard more voices tearing through the blackness. He saved Bornholm as his final stop that night.

Denmark found him lounging on his porch, awakened by the commotion, and went to explain the situation a third time.

"I heard." Bornholm said.

Good! Word reached the entirety of his land up and down. And they were all listening.

"Then to the boat with you." Denmark said in no uncertain terms.

"I'm not going with Sweden."

"Why _not_?"

The territory offered no satisfactory explanation as the moon crawled its way to the opposite side of the horizon, so Denmark stopped him cold.

"Fine! Whatever! Go to my house and hide in a closet or something! Just hurry!"

"If I see Nazi Germany on the way, I'll be sure to spit in his face." Then he saluted and too, stole away to safety.

Denmark saw one of Nazi Germany's flags billowing in tandem with his own on the Schalburg Corps headquarters. He fantasized about setting it ablaze, but something else brought him back to the moment- a crying, high-pitched, more despairing than the other voices populating the din. He ran in that general direction. He passed through the streets of Copenhagen and was accosted by Fyn.

She had gotten lost in the confusion. Perhaps Denmark could graciously direct her to Sweden's boat?

His heart sank when he showed her to the agreed upon location and Sweden was absent. Sunup was well on its way so he offered her a ride straight across the Øresund himself. He sped as fast as his little fishing boat could go.

Halfway there, a flare but ten meters away demanded his attention. Sweden! He steered toward him and they transferred Fyn to the other boat.

"That's the last territory. Everyone's safe." Denmark said dizzily. The rush wore off swiftly and there was no hope for a third wind.

"Not everyone. What about you?" Sweden shouted. The flame danced over his friend's face, casting it in a ghostly shadow that left only the whites of his eyes visible.

"Someone's got to stay back and distract him, right? I don't think he'll do that much to me. Model state, remember?"

Denmark waved them away and sailed back home just in time for the ordinary miracle of sunrise. Thanks to him, thousands more experienced the spectacular display from a nearby shore. He returned to no hero's welcome, for there was no one left to greet him. He only had that small voice whispering 'I did it. I am Superman!'

The adrenaline had been covering it, but by the time he pulled up to the dock exhaustion overcame him and he wanted nothing more than to lie in the boat and allow the waves to rock him to sleep. Experience taught him that was the quickest route to frostbite, though, so he hurried inside.

That was the only time, past and future, he would recall enjoying the sound of silence. Outside in the air, the fields, there was nothing. Glorious nothing! Before he took to bed while the wee hours of dawn filtered in, Denmark beelined to his cellar for one of four beer bottles left. Alcohol had become a distant luxury and the remnants of his supply had to last indefinitely. Tonight though, beer would make a fantastic night even better and that much more memorable.

Denmark draped over his sofa and flipped off the cap with a bottle opener stored on an end table for such a purpose. He savored that familiar hiss that accompanied the uncapping of a fresh longneck.

It was stuff he brewed sloppily in the midst of the war that would supposedly end all wars with inferior, leftover barley that would be relegated as animal feed under any other circumstance. Therefore, it didn't surprise him that the brew tasted flat and sour. But beer was beer and beer was meant to be enjoyed. No celebration was complete without it.

Denmark made a toast to life and downed half the bottle in one go. He set the rest of it on the table flanking the sofa and frowned at his unnaturally blue fingers. With that, he grabbed a blanket from behind him, snuggled under it, and fell asleep.


	7. A Just Reward

_Another chapter with its own intensity warning. Unfortunately there's not much I can do to spare you of it (and believe me, I tried). If you've made it this far, you can probably take it. Just hold your breath and hug your pet or something. _

_Chapter 7: A Just Reward_

Denmark was already up and about after a quick nap scavenging what he could for breakfast. He dredged up a few strips of dried herring stashed in a jar. As he took that first bite his front door crashed open and Nazi Germany stormed in. He swallowed the fish and washed it down with a swing of the remaining beer. What a way to begin the day.

He had no time to think as Nazi Germany grabbed his shirt and pinned him roughly against the wall, sneering. "Where are they? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Denmark flattened and smiled disarmingly. "I uh… didn't expect you to find out so soon?"

"I thought you might lose heart so I went to take care of them myself last night but they vanished." Nazi Germany gave him a shake and dug his knuckles into Denmark's collarbone. He lagged for that half a second and Nazi Germany took it as a cue to continue. "Do you not understand what I've been saving you from? The prisoners of Leningrad have turned into barbarous cannibals for lack of food! They walk kilometers over a frozen lake for promises of scraps. That's an example of Ally hospitality! Is that what you want for yourself?

'Yes,' Denmark wanted to say, 'it's an artificial famine imposed by you.' But he wasn't feeling that brave yet. And flat-out accusation wasn't his style. Denmark feigned innocence. "Does that mean you've not been feeding yours at all?"

He tensed, waiting for a strike that never came. Confused, he cracked open one eye and gave his captor a once over. All the cheekiness drained out of him when he noticed that Nazi Germany had traded in his crop for a proper whip coiled at his belt. Nazi Germany perceived the fissure in his shell and released him.

"So was that for all of us or just me?" Denmark said, eyeing the weapon with no small amount of trepidation.

"Walk with me." Nazi Germany barked. Denmark trailed him knowing he'd pushed his luck enough for the time being. "I've said it before, but it didn't process so I'll repeat myself. All those _other_ countries are going to fill your head with lies and propaganda- fairy tales you'll tell your children where the wicked witch is democracy."

Denmark hummed a few strategically placed 'yessirs' to make a show of paying attention as Nazi Germany blathered and marched. He panned his gaze over his quiet fields, towards his harbor and south to the swamps- all of it devoid of human life. And he smiled. Nazi Germany's final bargaining chip against him- gone gone gone.

"Didn't I tell you to get rid of that smirk, boy?"

Denmark stopped so hard he almost fell forward.

"That is it," Nazi Germany hissed, "thus far, Denmark, you've been an exemplary subordinate." Denmark's breathing increased twofold in grim anticipation as Nazi Germany took the whip in his hand. "But this debacle has shown me that you need education just like the rest of them and pain is an excellent teacher."

_Keep him talking_, Denmark thought, _every second he's talking, he's not beating me. _

For a superpower that bathed in words, it seemed an easy task.

"Wait." The word punched the air and bought Denmark a few precious seconds he needed to improvise. "I have a question."

Nazi Germany looked exasperated but didn't attack. "Make it quick. I'm in a hurry."

"Where's your brother?" Denmark blurted.

"Boy, I'm in no mood for small talk with you." He uncoiled the scourge with a snap.

Denmark's fear made it hard to properly drive a conversation, but he persevered. He held out his palms in a placating fashion. "T-this is very important. You've heard the rumors."

"Rumors?" Nazi Germany's mood shifted abruptly from impatient to intrigued, so Denmark relaxed a little.

"Sure! They're all over the radio." Denmark made up the story as he went along. "They're saying you took over against his will and you've locked him away somewhere or killed him. Germany's one of my good friends and I got worried after hearing that."

"I'll have to start minding what you listen to, won't I?" Nazi Germany said curtly. "No matter at this point. My brother is fine, just not allowed out of the house until he quits yammering about my lack of morality. Those countries that masquerade as human beings won't be feeding you any more lies about me."

"Why not?" Denmark asked, pleased.

"We're about to launch into Total War. I'll get rid of the others once and for all."

"Total War?" Denmark continued to prompt.

"It's over your head, boy. Don't worry yourself with it because I'll keep you safe. You know by now I'd never hurt another Aryan."

"Never hurt another Aryan?" Denmark repeated as he marveled at the irony. Germany under house arrest, Norway hiding in the woods for fear of his life… Denmark grabbed at his window of opportunity. "Then maybe you shouldn't threaten me with a whip."

Nazi Germany chuckled darkly. "Again you misunderstand. You should be thanking me for my caring. I'm considering your character. Clearly you don't understand the greatness you're capable of. You proved just that much last night."

"You said to gather the other Danes and that _I_ should meet you this morning, which I did. I misinterpreted and I'm sorry." Denmark blatantly lied.

When that happened, the superpower seemed sated and Denmark breathed a sigh of immense relief for that second before he noticed Nazi Germany didn't recoil the whip.

"If you're sorry then you can bring them back here." He fingered the braided leather menacingly.

Once again, Denmark faced the choice of integrity or self-preservation but this time chose the former. He focused on his countrymen, who he and Sweden worked as partners to save. Of Norway, forcing Nazi Germany to pay for every footprint left on his coastline…

"N-no."

"Very well. Then remove your shirt and kneel down. If you run, I'll catch you and double your punishment."

Denmark did as commanded, planted one hand on the boggy soil, and placed the crook of his thumb between his teeth to stop himself from screaming, reiterating his latest achievement like a mantra. There came a whistling followed by a sharp crack as the lash bit into him. Initially there was no pain, but feeling returned through a burning sensation that grew like hellfire. Every nerve in his body tensed and protested. He almost wished to be bound just to have something to steady him. Had he possessed clarity of thought, Denmark would wonder why Nazi Germany forbade him to run when he struggled to keep upright.

And that was only the first stroke.

The second left him shivering in agony. It felt as though Nazi Germany hit the same spot twice whether he did or not. He bit down on his thumb so hard that his jaw ached as the lash descended on him again and again and again. Somewhere in the middle he begged for it to stop, but his crying went unheeded. The hurt of the previous stroke never dulled before the next one followed. His senses dissolved in a wash of stings that transformed into numbness and later shock as the ordeal continued for a total of twenty counts.

"There." Nazi Germany said at the end of it all. "I hope you learned something."

It took a long moment for Denmark to register that it was all over; he had survived, and was being spoken to. Slowly, very slowly he sat back on his calves to give his blood pressure a chance to re-equalize.

"I did." He swallowed back a wave of nausea.

"Good, because I don't have any more time for you today."

Denmark didn't bother looking behind him to see if Nazi Germany left. Instead, he sat still until he had confidence he wouldn't pass out. He kept his movements unhurried and deliberate. With a considerable amount of effort, he balanced on his knees and pulled his shirt back over his head only to learn that fabric over fresh stripes hurt almost as much as the scourging itself. The wave of pain jolted some life back into him while simultaneously exhausting him anew, so he rested on his hands and knees until he could muster the energy to crawl another few meters whereupon he'd rest some more. Most everything about him hurt- his back, head, stomach, hands, pride, and dignity.

The distance it initially took him ten minutes to cover at a walk now took well over an hour to retrace. When he finally made it home, he found a handwritten scrap of paper shoved under his door. Denmark only noticed it by virtue of being so close to the ground, seemingly a piece of trash if he wasn't paying attention.

_Hi hero,_

_They're doing well and hiding._

Stopped by but you were out. Visit soon as you can, it's important. Don't let him scare you into not.

_-Sweden_

Denmark smiled and crept into bed. He'd allow himself the rest of that evening to clean up and recharge before he snuck over first thing that following morning. True, pain was indeed a great teacher and Denmark learned there were far worse things once the static cleared from his brain. Like death of your friends and family or continued service as a puppet state. As Denmark dozed on and off through the hurt, he made a point to congratulate himself time and time again for finally standing up to Nazi Germany and, at long last, completing his initiation into the resistance.


	8. Bring on the Day there will be only Joy

_Chapter 8: Bring on the Day There Will be only Joy_

Denmark tethered the fishing boat in a new harbor this time around; one in a village where it would blend in better, and crudely tied a sack of coffee to a belt loop he toted along as a thank you gift. He then slinked his way to Sweden's.

There, he saw something that stopped his world.

Norway lazed against a tree, playing with a toy he constructed from two sticks. He appeared about 1/3 smaller than what Denmark recalled, but that could have been his own faulty memory at work, and his clothing one step above rags. With every shred of his being he wanted to run up and embrace his friend, but the consistent isolation twisted something about him.

"Where's Sweden?" That spark, that flare of happiness he expected at the site of his best friend simply missing. Norway glanced briefly in his direction. In spite of the near-perfect weather, the air grew thick and heavy.

"He went… I don't know. He said to wait here." Norway said.

Denmark lay stomach down in the grass a short distance away, regarding his friend and fanning his legs in air. He arranged himself in such a manner that Norway sat in his direct line of vision and with the Gulf of Finland kilometers yonder, where the mines bobbed like metallic sea birds. Thus far, none had gone off.

More than once, Norway turned and insinuated to speak, but always retreated back to his toy. With the long stretch of silence wearing him out, Denmark untied the sack at his waist. True, he fully intended to pass it to Sweden but doubted he'd mind if Norway had it instead. Without sitting up, he lightly tossed the bag at Norway's feet. "That's for you." He belly crawled closer to Norway and when he wasn't asked to stop, he kept going.

Even without viewing its contents, the smell gave it away as coffee. Not ersatz. Not chicory. Real coffee. Norway sprang back to life; delighting in the luxury he undoubtedly missed greatly. "You are my hero!" He teased.

Denmark beamed up at him.

"Thank you. Come give me a hug." Norway said, grazing his back invitingly.

Denmark shied away with a hiss and Norway recoiled as if burned and then returned to his stick, deflated. The bad mood must have been contagious because Denmark felt instantly awful. He considered launching into a full-fledged explanation but opted instead for the quickest and easiest route to reconciliation. He sidled up to Norway and manipulated his friend's arm until it lay draped painlessly over his shoulders. Then touch did only what touch can do and they swiftly reestablished familiar ground.

"Did he hurt you?" Norway asked in nary a whisper and tensed, betraying the flicker of anger that overcame him.

Norway's ribs poked. His hands felt rougher, calloused, and dirty. Still definitely Norway, but Denmark preferred it when he had more Norway to hold. He eased the other country's agitation with a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't wanna talk about it."

Someday in the future, they'd sit in a circle and swap horror stories. That was all for later though. The waves lapping at low tide, azure sky, and sunshine was theirs to enjoy right now. After that, Norway tugged him closer and took extra care to avoid the wounds on his back.

He rubbed under the armband and then placed his other hand on Denmark's head and guided it to his chest. The calming predictability melted Denmark mind, body, and soul. He sat there elated to be in kind, trusted hands once again.

Through the years of the occupation Denmark longed for this nearness of another person, Norway most of all. The first stepping-stone along the road to normalcy. He gave his friend a soft nuzzle and shut his eyes. The stray hair was brushed away from his face and then his world reduced to Norway's metronomic heartbeat and the slow caresses up and down his arm.

"Hey Denmark?"

"Mmmm?"

"Actually, nevermind. We can talk about it later. Just rest."

No objection there. Quietly thrilled to hear something besides gunshots and his own lonely breathing, Denmark was lulled to sleep.

The next thing he felt were knuckles lightly rapping his forehead. Denmark fussed childishly and swatted at the offender. It stopped briefly and then resumed. Ironically, Norway's voice brought him back from the dreamy blackness. "Sweden, stop! I asked you to let him sleep."

"Norway, hush. Come on Denmark, wakey wakey." Sweden said, following it with a flick. Denmark moaned and reluctantly resumed a sitting position.

He paused for dramatic effect. "It is prevailing opinion that the war is about to end."

Denmark wiped a hand across one eye, then the other and stretched. "They've been saying that for years. How is it different this time?"

"There's hope." Norway said. "A continent wide, all out effort to expel Nazi Germany."

Hope… such a funny word.

"America and Canada will attack by air, England and France by land. Poland and Russia will push him from the east; Netherlands plans to literally burn his bridges. And Norway…"

"I already know what to do."

"What about you, Sweden?" Denmark asked.

"My iron ore supply will conveniently dry up and his communication wires are about to go down, but he doesn't know that."

With a light sigh, Denmark rolled onto his side and plopped his head in Norway's lap. He'd sit up straight when Sweden gave him a _real_ reason to. "He'll make me fight. He will find all this out and make me fight. This will never end." He stared onwards without actually seeing, among his friends without being with them.

A few gentle strokes from Norway brought him back. "He only can if you let him."

Right. The other Danes were safe and Norway and Sweden could take care of themselves. No excuse not to nurture those fledgling attempts at rebellion.

The trio sat silently for a few minutes, then Sweden carried on as if never interrupted. Seeing this boney version of Norway steadied and calmed him and reminded him he'd do anything… anything for a return to the old ways. He mulled over Sweden's words and the increasingly complicated plan codenamed Operation: Neptune. Norway hung on every word as though their lives depended on his understanding. Maybe they did.

In the midst of detailing supply shipments, Denmark surprised even himself when he mentioned the major transportation vein Nazi Germany used to transfer artillery from east to west. "I can cut that off." He interrupted.

And Sweden stopped dead. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean… Nazi Germany's really angry at you."

Denmark shuddered. "…You don't say. Are you sure Operation: Neptune will work?"

"It's the best we have so far." Norway said. "I'm willing to try. Lichen tastes awful… I want real food again. I'm sick of living in the mountains and shivering my way through winter. I want my bed back."

"Being on my guard every second of every day and sleeping with one eye open." Sweden added.

"And I get so lonely and… I just want to feel like myself again." Denmark said. The other nations nodded in concurrence.

That was it. That was the motivation he needed to go back and fight and do it without touching a weapon. Sweden had faith in the new plan, and Denmark had absolute confidence in his judgment. No more could they continue to exist in a world where some lived only to kill and others lived only to die.

Denmark shook off all his trepidation and past sins. Sometimes, it's not about how you start, but how you finish. He pushed upright. "Alright then, that's that. Thanks for the update. I'm going to get back and throw something together." He turned to Sweden and gave the stunned country a strong and stately handshake and offered the same to Norway who halted him at arm's length.

"Let me walk you back to your boat." Said Norway. Denmark tilted his head, confused, but didn't object.

As they strolled along the road, Norway made a few more false starts so Denmark kept him in sharp focus until he finally outed with whatever bothered him. Unlike before, he made no effort to rescue Norway from the burden of sharing.

"I've been so worried since the last time I saw you. I didn't mean to abandon you, not for a second. Fear got the better of me. I'm so sorry." He moved to wrap Denmark in a hug, but stopped himself short.

"Do you think I'm mad?" Denmark asked incredulously. Norway apparently suffered his own emotional jostles and Denmark wondered if all that time in the woods didn't go to his head. The solitude, the trees, butterflies, lack of alcohol… maybe his best friend turned more bear than human. His hands looked a little brown. Just one more reason to keep out of the forest. Then it's only one short step to getting into the river and catching salmon with your teeth. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because I abandoned you when you needed me the most." At that vivid moment of the invasion, Denmark thought exactly that. But what good would a grudge accomplish? Any residual anger he felt washed away in a barrage of worry days after the fact.

"I'm not mad, Norway. You've saved me from enough crawling things and shared your beer so many times… how the hell could I possibly stay mad?" When he bothered to consider it, especially in these years when every instance of kindness constituted an act of rebellion, their friendship itself seemed nothing short of miraculous.

"So you forgive me then?"

Given the circumstance, there was nothing to forgive. Denmark snuck behind him and stood on his toes to hug Norway from behind. In return, Norway messed his hair affectionately.

"See?" Norway said. "This is why you're my best friend."

They did, however grow solemn again in the spirit of a pending goodbye. Very possibly their last. At least this time, they parted on a good note.

"Stay safe." Norway said as he helped Denmark into the boat.

"You too. And Norway?"

"Hm?"

"For the love of god, gain some weight _please_."

Norway admired his gaunt hands and loose clothing for a minute and chuckled. "The coffee should help, once I get some cream and sugar to go with it, that is. Was that… actually for me? Or was it for Sweden?"

Denmark unknotted the hefty rope and tossed it to the boat deck. "Don't tell him."


	9. Total War

_Chapter 9: Total War_

Nazi Germany didn't ambush him this time. Perhaps the superpower assumed the whip did its work or perhaps he was in the midst of a mad scramble to serenade the Allies with his swan song.

Denmark forced himself to take to bed the rest of the day if not to sleep, then to doze. He felt safer acting when he couldn't be seen. Never could he throw himself into the heat of battle and expect to emerge alive. He'd do a far better job of getting in the way of the countries that _did_ know what to do.

When the stars flecked the sky and Denmark could keep still no longer, he untethered his boat one final time and coiled the rope over his shoulder and then dragged the extra weight to a set of train tracks that carried the industrial equipment south and west.

With considerable effort, he pulled one spike loose and used it to pry the other ones up. He repeated this process with three sets of tracks. There came a feeling not unlike an earthquake that shook the earth under his feet.

He yelped and redoubled his effort. In a monumental endeavor, he knotted the heavy rope about a steel track and threw himself backwards against it. At first, his slight weight did nothing to knock the beam askew but he did it again. And again. And kept doing it until he heard the satisfying scrape of steel against wood.

Then a grenade landed not a meter away and he used those 10 seconds to sprint and take cover in a pile of concrete. Then hell took over the land.

Outside his fortress, the world glowed red. Denmark remained still and quiet and hidden for days.

The first night the cold permeated the stone and seeped into him. It rained the next night, so he opened his mouth to take in what little water he could. He became stiff and restless from lying still, yet he was tired all the time. He watched the clouds sail across the sky from a singular peephole that served as a window to the outside world.

Many times, he trembled because of the noise, the cold, the fear. By the third day, his mind was blank. Where were all the things he learned? The places he played? The songs he listened to? There was just nothing, just a formless gray misery in place of thought. A mind gone dead.

That fourth afternoon, something more intense than oblivion pressing in from all sides percolated through- the barely perceptible clicking of train wheels that suddenly stopped amongst the gunfire. Denmark chanced a peak, but saw only smoke.

What brought him back to some sense of being was Nazi Germany calling for him in a syrupy sweet tone Denmark learned to dread. "I saw what you did to the train tracks, my dear boy. You've ended the dream we struggled so hard to build. Please, come out to meet me and I'll be glad to show you the inside of a gas chamber…" That would be the last time he heard Nazi Germany's voice.

After more silence came a monotonous wait followed by footsteps from above. One of the concrete blocks fell dangerously close to his ribcage as it toppled off its precarious balance.

Then, his tiny space shrunk by half. Denmark rubbed his forehead against the broken edge of a cinderblock until it became bloody, annoyed at his continued capability to feel pain and frustrated that it did nothing to make him feel alive. He spent the remainder of his bid wavering between a state of disassociation and sleep. Waking up became a secondary concern.

On day five of his self imposed captivity, a voice rang triumphant among the melee in Berlin.

"_Pobedi dla ludey!"_

It was Russia. Denmark had no idea what it meant, but the tone suggested good news. Then there was nothing but dust, pulverized concrete that clogged his lungs and burned his throat. Then there was nothing at all.


	10. Shalom

_A/n: Soundtrack for this chapter: Banner of Victory sung by the USSR Folk Chorus._

_Chapter 10: Shalom, let there be peace_

When Denmark came to again, there existed a pleasant stillness to the world. Five long days he remained cloistered away. Five long days with no food and little water. A voice infiltrated his fortress. A welcome conversation to be heard.

"Yes, Denmark and Norway are the last two." It sounded like England. The Allies had arrived, moving like a pardon across the continent. "Denmark should be around somewhere." And they were looking for him.

He had no voice left with which to cry out. After a few feeble attempts to free himself, he devised a new plan.

"Denmark! Can you hear me? Nazi Germany's gone!" England called again from mere steps away. Welcome words indeed, the most welcome in the six years and one day robbed from them all.

Denmark twisted about in what little space he had and grabbed a chunk of brick and pounded stone against stone and England noticed.

"How long have you been there?" A pause during which Denmark didn't speak. "No matter. Time to come out and learn… or relearn how to live." A slab rattled over him. "Okay Denmark, see this piece I'm moving? I'll pull and you push. We'll have you free in no time."

Denmark somehow found the energy to contort so that he sat on his knees and pushed and pushed with all he had. And then… and then he fell forward into the bright wide world. Immediately he shielded his eyes against the blinding daylight.

England rested a hand on his shoulder until he stirred and opened his eyes on what promised to be a more peaceful tomorrow. He turned his head to England and found the other country offering him a canteen of water and half a loaf of bread. Automatically, he swallowed the food whole without bothering to chew, like a duck, and drank the water greedily. Then came the feeling of being a person again.

England pulled him upright and kept him steady as he panned over the rubble… and the things to be seen!

The Soviet flag fluttered atop the Reichstag. A banner of victory.

And America! With France! Chatting amicably on a road as if carefree afternoon strolls happened every day.

Poland too. Eating and smiling among fellow Slavs.

"You… we… We won?"

"Won might be the wrong word." England said. "Yes, we beat Nazi Germany."

Denmark wanted to say something to him, but he didn't know what.

"Will you be okay? If you're recovering, I need to tell Norway help's on its way. Do you mind?" England asked.

Denmark shook his head no. Not at all! A thousand times no!

So he and England parted ways and Denmark went to meet America, who used his time as the hero of the hour to the fullest.

"And then my plane twisted into a nosedive…_ zoooooooom_!" America plunged his hand downward for emphasis.

France just looked bored. She shot Denmark a dull look as if to say 'This is America all right. Better get used to him because he'll be around for a very long while.'

"And Belgium was all," he pinched his nose to recreate that extra high-pitched tone. "'Help me! Help meeee!'" America hopped from toe to toe while France laughed politely. "Then after I blew up that Nazi scum's stronghold in Brussels with my impeccable aim, he called me his hero! And you!" He planted a kiss on France's hand. "You were amazing, sweet stuff! I didn't know a _girl_ could drive a tank so good! And when you said 'you want some cheese with your whine?' HA!"

So that was America? The strongest of all the Allies?

France took Denmark's approach as a chance to break away. "You mean so well, mon ami. Look, here's a new country for you to bother. Go see what he thinks of your stories."

America took the bait with a quickness and squinted at Denmark, considering. "Who the hell are you?" He looked back at France. "Is this one Netherlands?"

"I'm Denmark."

"Denmark, huh?" America recoiled in consternation and then whined in his best little boy voice. "Daaaaaaad, why is Nazi Germany's little lapdog at my victory party?" Denmark puffed up in indignation, but never got a chance to retaliate. From a short distance away, an airborne piece of rubble knocked America's helmet askew. Both he and Denmark turned in tandem to find Russia bounding towards them.

"England!" Russia shouted. "Get back over here and teach your boy some manners!" He pried into a space between the two. "How about a more proper greeting while we wait? America, this is Denmark. The only one among us who understood that victory comes not from how many of your enemies you kill, but how many lives you save."

Denmark tucked his head into his shoulder, feigning nonchalance.

"Oh!" America said as if a divine revelation had reached down smacked him right in the face. "You're _that_ Denmark. That was pretty cool of you… still have some way to go before you're me, but you're off to a good start. Do you know Iceland?"

"I'm almost afraid to ask." Denmark replied.

"He left you this. I told him it was okay." America passed him a note from a typewriter, complete with an eagle seal signaling America's unequivocal approval:

Heil there, Denmark!

_I have fantastic news that I just can't wait to share. America's been so nice to me and gave me permission to be my own country... I think my great flying skills helped his choice. It seemed wrong to let you hear it from anyone else. One less thing for you to worry about, I suppose._

_-Iceland_

Denmark crumbled the paper and filed that under 'things to be dealt with later' now that he had the luxury to think about 'later'.

"See Russia," America gave the other country a companionable clap on the back. "This is why you and I make such a great team. You always introduce a new angle on things to me. Why, if we wanted, we could build a rocket to the moon with my brains and your strength! Let's stay best friends forever!"

"Don't think too hard or you might sprain something. Don't get caught up in the moment, either. Unlike socialism, some things aren't meant to last forever." Russia replied, giving America's helmet a chummy jostle.

In the midst of their fraternal tiff, England reappeared with the news that Nazi Germany fled to Norway, who requested immediate support. America cocked his gun and looked ready to attack, but Russia stopped him short and smiled wryly.

"Pardon me, gentlemen. If none of you mind, it is my honor and privilege to be the one to assist Norway flushing this asshole out of Europe once and for all!" His tone left no room for negotiation. The other three watched him go.

"Once and for all…" America mused, "no more Nazi Germany. But I have so much fun beating up the bad guys. When do we do it again?"

"Hopefully never." Denmark said. Nazi Germany lost the war, but none of them truly won it. The six years and one day were but a blip in their centuries long lives, but the scars were scored into their hearts indefinitely.

Then and there, an idea hit him. Wordlessly, he left America and England to tend to other countries as they surveyed the damage and formulated plans for their brand new lives that had yet to begin.

He walked to his pantry and in it discovered the three remaining beers and threw the meager provisions in whatever potato sack was within reach. He climbed over the piles of debris freely this time and beelined to Sweden's house. The other country sat basking in the sun, like a lizard, more content than Denmark had seen him all century.

"I never did properly thank you for your help." Denmark said, offering him one of the beers. Sweden accepted the gift and tapped Denmark with the base.

"If you want to thank me, keep your beer and take off that damn swastika once and for all!"

"Oh." Denmark turned again to the red and black armband that pained him so much at first that he grew not to notice. Something that now torn, tattered, and dirty he still afforded too much respect. He slid it off and deliberated what best to do with it. Forever it would leave an invisible trench dug deep in his heart, more for what he never accomplished than guilt over what he did. Was he to keep it, a cursed relic from a past era? Burn it? In the end, he dropped it among the wreckage surrounding them all so it too could be recycled into something better. "Now will you accept the beer?"

"Only you would manage to find beer at a time like this." Sweden regarded the bottle. It was dusty, its label faded. "What kind is it, anyways?"

"The best kind you've ever had." Denmark grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. "Come on! Let's get to the beach and wait for Norway."

And they didn't wait long. Scarcely an hour passed before Norway and Russia advanced down the coast, each profusely congratulating the other.

"You were the best." Norway said.

"No, _you_ were the best." Russia replied.

"I. Said. You."

"No, you."

"You."

"Shut up." Russia growled, soon as the four of them stood close enough to constitute a cluster. "You stopped Nazi Germany from building a nuclear bomb and sabotaged his navy time and time again. You," he turned to Sweden, "provided us with critical intelligence that allowed us to execute Operation: Neptune to end that bastard's empire." Finally, he smiled at Denmark. "And you… without stopping Nazi Germany's supply shipments, we may never have been able to pull it off. Thank you, my friends."

Russia headed back down south and left the three Scandinavians in easy relaxation. Nazi Germany had been right about another thing- even through death, came a sense of catharsis and rebirth.

Denmark broke up the initial awkwardness first by passing Norway the remaining beer and second, by opening his own. The other two followed suit and they clicked the bottles with a cry of '_Skål__'_ just like normal.

Sweden pulled a face and swallowed the brew reluctantly. "Wow! I'm sorry. This stuff is awful."

"It's great!" Denmark said.

"Yeah, it tastes like…" Norway groped for the proper words.

"It tastes like the end of a war." Denmark finished. Then they settled down near the waves and talked on everything and nothing, having the best time no matter where the tide took the conversation. They spoke of the weather, of the upcoming fishing season, of vacations past and future, of everything but the fighting. Its very mention could only serve to give Nazi Germany life all over again.

Suddenly and wordlessly, Norway downed the rest of his beer and walked off. Denmark called for him and followed. Sweden rolled his eyes and did the same. But Norway ignored them both. He returned home, located some nails and a hammer and a scrap of paper, scribbled something and then headed to his naval harbor whereupon he began hammer.

"What does it say?" Sweden asked.

"It says 'Stengt på grunn av lykke.' Can't you read?" Denmark teased.

Sweden smiled an impish smile and gave him a playful shove. It caught Denmark entirely off his guard and his arms windmilled as he fought a losing battle against gravity. Then he fell backwards into the frigid and brackish water. The cold clawed at him as he climbed back to the surface and drew in a huge, gratifying breath. He fanned around at the surface for a spell, and then took to splashing water at both of them over their half-hearted protests. And Denmark laughed. He laughed so heartily that he nearly slipped beneath the waves because he forgot to do anything else but laugh.

That was it- the pinnacle of life. The point in life which one can achieve no higher state of being. All that he could do was laugh and play freely with Norway and Sweden as best friends should. Then Norway had to ruin it all.

He knelt down and beckoned him over in a come hither motion. "Out of the water, you. I don't want you to catch cold." Norway sounded stern, but his eyes and body language smiled. Denmark dove and reemerged next to the dock. He held both arms aloft, kicking his feet to keep upright and allowed his friends to tow him back to dry land where he laughed some more.

When the three stood upright once more, staring off into the vast expanse of the North Atlantic, Denmark flipped his hair from his face intentionally sending a spray of water Sweden's way.

"You're a twerp, you know that?" Sweden shot at him.

"You're the one who threw me in the water!"

"Can it. Both of you." Norway said. "The world doesn't need more fights."

The Scandinavians let out long and simultaneous sighs.

"So what does it say?" Sweden tried again.

Denmark huddled between the two and shivered against the ocean breeze. With a contended huff, Norway threw an arm around his sopping friend to give him a thorough and prolonged squeeze.

"Closed on account of happiness."

* * *

_This is the story I told myself I'd never ever write, but that's the problem with writing- there's an obnoxious voice whispering for you to do its bidding. Mine told me to SatW-ify WWII and in the process hit every hard line of what I thought this light and fluffy fandom ought to entail and what I should produce as a fanfic writer therein._

And I'm so very glad I did. This wasn't a challenge to write in the normal sense (history gave me the plot and characterization) and my biggest concern ultimately boiled down to if a fanfic such as this should be shared.

But now that it's out there, how'd I do? SatW writers aren't used to much feedback and we'd really, really love some more (HINT).

Thanks for reading!


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